


In The Small Hours

by elsewherewolf



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Cuddles, Father/Son Incest, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Sex, a bit of angst about the incest because I can't help myself apparently, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsewherewolf/pseuds/elsewherewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kinkmeme prompt: Herc/Chuck - snuggly, lazy morning sex.  I just need more cuddly, affectionate, sleepy morning!Hansens in my life, before they're awake enough to be angry assholes at each other.</p><p>Bonus if they're so sleepy they say sweet things to each other, things they'd never say otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Small Hours

_Nobody else needs to know_. It's how Herc qualifies this, the excuse he makes for what they do within these walls. He likes these hours of the day more than any others, when Chuck is his and nobody else's, when his son's body is warm and nestled safely within the curve Herc makes with his own. When Chuck isn't so busy thinking about why they even have to hide at all that he just gets angry with Herc and picks away little pieces of him, maybe in the hopes that one day Herc will just drop his sorry arse and there won't be anything left to hide.

It doesn't matter to Herc. For all that Chuck tears at his soul, these hours around dawn rebuild him. And the best moments by far are these long, sweet ones that whisper in the sheets as though there's sunlight waking up with them, slow. It doesn't matter that the only time they ever see the sun is when they step outside the Shatterdome, Herc can feel the lazy heat of it all the same when he's just waking and Chuck's breaths are still deep and even. 

Some mornings it's even enough to tempt him to agree when Chuck says 'we could just tell them, you know, if they kick us out they'll lose two of the best Jaeger pilots in the world, but we'd still have each other.' He never does, but today he might. 

Chuck makes a sleepy, indignant sound when Herc kisses his shoulder, and nuzzles deeper into the pillow.

"Freckles," Herc murmurs, an answer to a question Chuck hasn't even asked. He brushes his knuckles over Chuck's thigh, pushing the sheet that's covering them lower. "Son." A filthy secret any other time, but when the rest of the world is still just as asleep? It's endearment, it's wonder, it's worship and it's _right._

There's a yawning sigh when Herc curves his hand, tracing the fine silk of a scar, trailing his fingers through short, soft hair to rest it flat against Chuck's stomach. Herc smiles when Chuck's hand comes up to cover his and push it lower, over his cock. " _Dad_ ," he replies, stretching his legs and bringing his arse back, flush against Herc's hips. "Mm. _Morning._ "

"Happens to us all," Herc says, hushed and hoarse with want because he's hard already and Chuck's perfect arse is firm and soft in all the right places and he's squirming with _purpose_ , the little shit. "Quit wriggling. No rush."

Chuck does stop, when Herc gives his cock a light tease of a stroke. Stops, and lets go of Herc's hand to bring his arm up and back, take hold of Herc's short hair. His hand doesn't move once it's there, just rests, a possessive pressure on Herc's head. So it's Herc who has to lean over the lazy bastard to grab the bottle that's still there from the previous night, and Chuck hums his appreciation at Herc's weight.

Chuck takes the bottle from him, pours into Herc's palm and over his still-waking cock, and when he tosses the bottle, resumes his gentle scrubbing of Herc's scalp, fingertips restless and pressing in when Herc takes hold of him more firmly, coaxes him just a little further out of sleep. Still not far enough for any more words, but Chuck is by no means silent. 

"You make the cutest sounds," Herc teases, pressing his open mouth to the back of Chuck's neck, dragging the edges of his teeth out across one shoulder, damp and hot. He kisses some of those freckles, and gives Chuck's cock a gentle squeeze.

"Dad..." It's drawn out, reminds Herc of Chuck when he was younger and wanted something from his father. Only his wants have changed, really.

"Jesus, let me enjoy this would ya Chuck?"

"Yeah," Chuck whispers, and Herc rubs into the hand on his head, loving every bloody second of this, and how all the places where their bodies are touching seem to be alight with the same lazy fire that's brewing somewhere low in his belly. "But Dad, I want you."

"Right here." Herc pulls Chuck's hand down - reluctant to lose that connection, but there's a greater good at stake - and wraps it around his son's cock. "Stroke. Don't worry, it's only for a minute. I'll finish you." 

Chuck laughs, throaty and sweet, and turns his head into the pillow, apparently embarrassed by his neediness. Herc knows different, he knows Chuck loves how turned on Herc is just from touching him, from knowing he's wanted, even if it only ever stays here and in this bed. He thinks of last night again, and how different the sex was - always is - at the end of the day. Herc didn't coddle Chuck the way he is now, and instead of _I'll finish you, son_ , he's pretty sure what he said was _I'll ruin you, boy._

But last night doesn't have a place here, because Chuck's skin is achingly beautiful when Herc skims his palm over it, cups his hip again and pushes, just a little. Giving himself room, that's all, room to rub his slick fingers between the perfect, perfectly toned cheeks of Chuck's arse. "Sometimes..." _Sometimes I think you aren't even real._ "How are you even this, this-"

"Don't say pretty, Dad." Chuck moans, his hand on his cock moving slow, and he's waiting, waiting for Herc.

"Wasn't going to. Ready?" Herc closes his eyes, tired still and tired of waiting, and takes hold of his own cock, pushing into Chuck in the almost indolent, inexorable way that these hours of the day were made for. He doesn't do exertion, not at this hour, and so it's a lazy, languid fuck, his hand returning to Chuck's cock, fingers twined with his son's as they both stroke in stilted time with Herc's thrusts.

Sleep creeps in on the edges of his senses again, and he thinks when this is over, he'll submit to it. It's only the feel of Chuck around him, the mellow sound of him gradually losing it, that keeps Herc completely in the moment. He comes soundlessly, his hips pressed tight against Chuck, his mouth in Chuck's hair and it's something good, something close to beautiful and Herc knows he'll carry it with him for the rest of the day like something to snack at bite by bite until it's all gone. If he was a better person, by evening all that would be left is shame, but he loves his son. Loves him in all the wrong ways, but he's not ashamed of it at all and he'll keep that to himself. 

And it's not even to spare them the disgust or the ostracism, it's just because Chuck is _his_ , dammit. Flesh and blood, body and fucking soul, and nobody else can have these parts of him, however much Chuck wants to tell the damn world.

Chuck shudders against him, spilling hot and thick over Herc's fist, his own, and the strokes ease off until they're barely moving and Herc quietly pulls out, rolls onto his back, his fingers trailing over clammy skin. "It's early."

Chuck turns over, reaching to palm Herc's softening cock, and mutters some agreement, kissing Herc's beard, the short scruff on his throat, his collarbone. He ducks, forcing his head under Herc's arm, rests his cheek down on Herc's chest and breathes out, the heat of it a tickle that prods at the embers of the earlier fire. 

"Comfy there?"

"Stop talking, old man."

"Screw you too, my boy." Herc smiles at the ceiling, letting his eyes fall closed again.


End file.
